


A Stranger & His Box

by AlixxBlack



Category: Doctor Who, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adventure, Crossover, Gen, Self-Discovery, TARDIS - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-02-28
Packaged: 2018-09-14 07:01:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9167446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlixxBlack/pseuds/AlixxBlack
Summary: Hermione Granger is home for the summer after her fourth year at Hogwarts - and things just feel different for her. With Viktor Krum trying to keep their relationship alive, the only thing that will help Hermione to think clearly is to get out of the house. As she runs through her emptiness, she recklessly follows a mechanical noise that leads her to a stranger and his box.





	1. Chapter 1

 

 

Viktor keeps writing me and I suppose I should be flattered. Our relationship was both more serious than people would have guessed _and_ still less serious than some people were assuming. Viktor, unfortunately, seems to be the latter. His interest in me is very quite genuine. I’m not sure I know how to deal with that, exactly, since I’ve never had anyone have a crush on me before…

I’ve turned fifteen this spring and this is a first experience for me, which I know is probably a bit later than usual. Other girls already have had their first and second boyfriends, even some of my Muggle friends (who are admittedly more daft than I want to believe at times). I asked my mother how she felt about it - how she felt about a seventeen year old famous Quidditch player going after my heart, and all she did was laugh, “Not much different than your own father, eh? Chased me down after a bit of futbol, didn’t he?”

They laugh it off, thinking nobody is safer in this world than me. All the time there are compliments on my ability, news articles that mention me, and professors bragging on and on about me after each exam and at mid-terms. If anyone in this world has unfounded confidence in me, I’m afraid to say it would be my parents. Capable as I am at magic, well,  _people_  are not exactly my forte.

People require a certain  _je nais ce quoi…_

One day last week Viktor wrote that he’ll be in London soon, asking if he can visit me while he’s passing through. I guess he’s got a Muggle tailor who does wonders with his formal wear. I insist that he not go out of his way at the beginning of my letter but assure him that an afternoon out with him would be a fine break from all - well - the _nothing_ happening. That's why I enjoy the magic world so much, there's always something happening that needs exploring. There's always something new to be discovered.

This is why my parents generally take me traveling for six weeks in the summers. Nobody has really said why it is we're not going anywhere this summer, just that it won't be happening. I suspect that Dumbledore will be calling me to the Weasley’s home before the summer is over. Anyone associated with Harry Potter is going to be a target, and being Muggle-born only makes that spotlight on me even brighter.

So time passes, days feel more like years. My parents say it is because I’m not leaving the house. The running theory is that they think I am depressed - legitimately and wholly depressed. I don’t know that I could be properly depressed if I tried, though. My only modes are “focused” and “unfocused.” At the present I’m very unfocused. Any other day, if I wasn’t working on something already, I would be reading.

“Get a summer job,” My mother says this morning while I snatch my tea from the table and turn right back around to my room. I don’t know what I’d do, and yet I could probably do anything with proper training. A muggle job wouldn’t be the worst thing I’ve done to pass the time. Once, when Harry was fighting with Ron this last term, I actually walked the shoreline and helped Neville locate and identify at least eleven different types of seaweed. While the experience proved to be valuable in hindsight, at the time it felt wasteful. Working for extra cash, cash my parents couldn’t necessarily advice me to spend specifically on school related items, would be nice.

Maybe I could pay for Harry’s drinks at the pub once or twice during the year. Or, goodness forbid, I could purchase Ron some Christmas gifts that wouldn’t embarrass him - or fatten him up…

Ronald Weasley: one topic I simply cannot speak about rationally. I spent weeks, and I do mean _weeks_ , pleading to Merlin in silence that he would invite me to the ball. Unfortunately, he never even discussed it with me outside of a study hall for Professor Snape. By then Viktor Krum had already approached me about going as his guest. Of course, we'd spoken in great length before then since he was sitting with me in the library. The only reason Ron hadn't caught wind of it is because I sit in the Restricted Section to study, a perk of being a bookworm I suppose. Nobody would find us there that would care enough to talk about it with friends. Ravenclaws are such great students as a whole, and I still sometimes wonder why it is I wasn't sorted there instead.

Truth be told, snogging Viktor Krum was delicious in its own rite. Even when the Yule ball had come and gone, and Viktor had chosen me as his most valued person (by default, I think, because I was his date to the dance - though Ron was Harry's, which sent some ripples through the student body), Ron did little to actually express any feelings for me. I had believed we felt the same but time is proving that maybe I just have a crush him that will never be reciprocated. A part of me is still waiting for time to turn back and for Ron to ask me to the ball. Anyone would say 'yes' to Viktor Krum if they had asked him. My belief was always, even still is, that Viktor Krum is a temporary part of my life that will pass. just a distraction from everything else really.

 

A very good looking distraction, though.

“Could you invite the bloke over? He’s not famous to us - he’s just dating our daughter, you know. It would be nice.” My father has never been like other fathers. His eyes are never looming behind me, watching the boys that smile a little too long as I pass by them. Of course, nobody sees me like that either. As such, there's really no need for him to be protective in that way. Even now, I'm standing in the living room in a large shirt dress and my underwear, my full leg exposed, and there's not even a fleeting joke to cover myself up. My parents are far too trusting of me, being a teenager and what not, knowing what I know about my peers' lives.

And yet, I've never given them a reason to be stricter with me.

“It’s just a few days,” I stammer. It is no secret that Viktor is taking his interest in me at pace and with tact. Every effort and kindness that he offers to me is truly a reflection of his age. Sometimes I get a bit jealous, though I’ve no clue why, about the girls he must have practiced these behaviors with to make him such a perfect gentleman. Ron would have told me, though, if it were very many. He was jealous of Krum when he’d seen I was dancing with him.

Though, I can’t sure for sure whether it was because  _he_ was with me rather than because  _I_ was with him _._  All the jokes that his family makes about his love of Krum being more on the romantic end, I can’t say I doubt the possibility he simply wanted to be at the ball with Krum himself. More than once I’ve even wondered if Ron likes girls - if perhaps that’s why he hasn’t shown an interest in me. Then I would see him watching Fleur as she walked by for moths, and it told me that he _definitely_ liked girls. Perhaps he’s so confused about himself that he can’t decide how he feels about anything. I've been lowering my expectations of him since the dance. I figure he's going to be a permanent part of my life and that I'll have the patience it takes to see where things go from here.

“I can ask tomorrow when we’re out for lunch. Perhaps he could come by before he leaves for tea and biscuits?” I offer timidly. My mother senses the hesitation but doesn’t push me on the matter. I wonder what it is like having parents that are always high-strung and worried. Mrs. Weasley is always running about and asking questions, concerning herself with every affair of her children. She has so many, though, and I couldn’t imagine trying to keep track of them all. I know she’s got no career to her name but being a mum is a career on its own in the Weasley household. Sometimes I can’t even keep track of the two Weasley children I care most about, let alone all seven of them! I commend her greatly.

As I sulk into my room I decide I want to go for a run. For years I've been running to clear my mind when I can't think straight, and I've gone as far as choosing very specific windows to run within while I stay at Hogwarts. My preferred time is in the early morning before the sun rises. Students are allowed out for "study hall" or other required training sessions, but mostly nobody is ever up except professors. Not another soul at Hogwarts knows about my running. Well, except for Draco Malfoy. I'll never know why, but he jogs around the school at the same time. We've done a fantastic job keeping our distance from one another, though occasionally we do run the same path silently side-by-side. I'll never tell anyone about this, though. I don't think he will either.

Changing into my running attire is fluid. In some ways I'm a rather graceful person. I have no idea how. Growing up, yes, I took a dance class or two, but my mother insists that I begged to spend my days at the libraries rather than in the studios. She proclaims to this day I was the worst dancer on stage and that I never practiced as hard as other little girls. It never suited me, we agree constantly, but I have do a poise that is just natural. My father laughs, usually, and swears it is my love of the French culture;  _"They have far too much poise for their own good."_

Shortly after the ball, Fleur was surprised when she heard me speaking French with some of the other Beauxbatons students. Apparently she was so impressed that she inquired to her headmistress as to why I hadn’t been invited to their school instead of to Hogwarts. I pretended to not be as aware of the zoning effort to decide which students attend which schools of magic, putting very little effort in the conversation until she says that London is a "free zone" in a way. Once she said that, she explains that usually the headmasters and headmistresses meet up to discuss the division of the students based on the talents that have revealed themselves in each student.

Little did I know, there'd been a bit of an argument over which school would actually get to invite me. Dumbledore was insistent that I needed something less structured and more informal than what Beauxbatons had to offer. The justification was that I could not reach my fullest potential if I wasn't forced to make independent choices for myself. As such, he won the right to invite me to Hogwarts. I found the story both meaningless and monumental. There are tons of reasons why knowing this helps me in no way, but there are dozens of other reasons why this story is such a big deal. I've been wondering if I should have been at Hogwarts at all, and what may have become of Harry Potter were I not here to befriend him, or if I weren't here for him to save me from trolls.

I cannot resist the temptation to contemplate every so often whether Beauxbatons would have been a better place for me. I'm never convinced one way or another that I certainly should be here or there or elsewhere, but I can make compelling arguments either way. The only thing I can say is that most of the time my gut says I could only ever belong to Hogwarts.

Still, I do feel drawn elsewhere too. I don’t want to go to Beauxbatons. I don’t care much for a Muggle life, either. Knowing magic changes one’s perspective, and  _having_  it makes the world brand new. My parents accepted when I was eleven that I would never be the Muggle child they’d been raising. They were so cool and content about it, and I know that’s why I am too.

There is still something missing. I cannot put my finger on it quite. So when I run two and three and four blocks away from home, I just follow the sound my feet. I don’t look where I’m going, outside of the necessity of staying safe. My mobile is in my pocket and I’ve got cash stuffed inside of my sock. My wand is absolutely on my person, but I’ve charmed it to be invisible. Nobody knows I can do magic without my wand, not even the professors, though I’m sure someone’s begun to suspect - at least at the Ministry. I’m not supposed to do magic in the Muggle world but I’ve got to practice somehow. I’ve found I can get away with quite a lot from the privacy of my bedroom. The Ministry never complains.

I stop a few times to breathe, but mostly I just keep going. The rush of blood in my body, doing what it can to keep me oxygenated and energized; it sounds off in my ears louder than anything I’ve ever heard. Noise no longer bothers me, something Ron has made sure is forever a part of my personality.

But then there’s a noise I can’t quite ignore when I begin racing down an alleyway to turn around. It’s this sharp sort of sound, like machinery singing. My attention shifts and I start jogging in place before I completely stop to track the sound down more effectively.

It wanes for a moment, but then the sound materializes once more. This time is _much louder_ so I assume I am _much closer_. My mind is has been scrambled for months now but I am somehow enthralled in finding the source of this noise that I am able to put everything else to a halt. I spare only a second to be happy about the new muse.

The alley comes to a dead end in three different branches off the cobblestone road so I start just carefully exploring my options. As I rule out each path I start quickening my pace. None of it is intentional but I can’t really stop. For an unknown reason this mechanical music has my interest. I cannot say for sure what I am expecting but it is a shock when I find an - oddly - placed police phone box at an angle… Sort of, actually…

“Why is your booth on top of a dumpster?” I ask the gentleman staring at it with frustration. He’s pacing and clearly can’t decide whether to acknowledge me. I suppose I probably look like that when I’m brainstorming for a term paper. In fact, I bet I look this way whenever I am actually thinking about anything at all. Pacing has a way of keeping one’s thoughts moving around. His loafers crunch against the cracking stone that is dry from the heat of summer.

When the man finally answers, I’m approaching him and his phone box; “I don’t know why I’ve landed here. The TARDIS doesn’t detect any threats. Perhaps she just wanted to get me away…” Then he shrugs. I cannot theorize what makes him shrug, of course, beyond that he’s deemed the thought unworthy of being shared. Perhaps the topic is even unfit to discuss with a stranger.

“What about you? You’re awfully young to be back here alone. Where are your parents? Your friends?” His inquiry doesn’t bother me much, I suppose, because surely I don’t look old enough to be on my own. I mean, I clearly don’t look old enough to be anyone’s romantic interest, or to be worried about at all. Nothing ever really happens to me, Hermione Jean Granger. I just happen to be where all the 'happening' is, it seems. I’m a very close spectator on a good day.

This man is also quite young himself, I suspect no more than his early twenties. He could still technically be in my peer group, I suppose. There are some girls I know from France who are all ready to be married off at sixteen to men almost twice their age, but I think that’s a very different matter that is isolated. I feel inclined to reply, “I run sometimes. All my friends are gone off to their families far away. So I run sometimes.”

After the sports a sad sort of smirk, he stuffs is hands into his pockets and watches me carefully. So I point up at his box, my brows furrowing in the way they do when I’m my least attractive. This is when Ron tells me I’m being bossy with my priorities all backwards; “What about your box, sir?”

“Oh, yes! The TARDIS, I think she just pops me around these days so I don’t get too caught up with anyone or anything. She might be taking a break…” The gentleman straightens is tie and pulls his pants up, which are a bit too short to begin with I observe.

“You speak about your box as if it is a living thing…” It reminds me of the many magical artifacts that I shouldn’t have been reading up on in the Restricted Section. I have a way of only breaking rules that benefit my quest for knowledge, as Harry usually reminds me. In some ways, Harry and Ron have had their affect on me, but they don’t realize how minuscule it’s really been. My mom is always going on about my penchant for selective cooperation. I do what suits me, she says, and I don’t disagree.

It makes me wonder if this man is a wizard. He looks so _very_ British so I just assume that he’s from Durmstrang. Maybe he was a bit of a dud? Or maybe he’s like the Lovegood family - fantastically brilliant but unacceptably awkward. In a way he reminds me of the personal accounts others have shared on Newt Scamander. I believe it all, of course, because son is also a bit strange. This man strikes me as similar to that type of person. Confidently, and reckless,y I dare to ask him; “Are you a wizard, sir?”

My hair flips a bit as I shift my weight and cross my arms. The air is dead here so the swaying lasts but a moment. Unlike the pacing this man is _still_  doing! It has me anxious, but I can't say it's necessarily in a negative way. I am a bit scared but I'm partially excited, too. There's something significant about this man that I cannot deny to even my most rational self. He simply does not seem capable of hiding anything, and yet when he gets closer to me I see he must be hiding quite a bit.

“I’ve heard a lot of talk about wizards in England this summer. Bad ones, it seems, doing the worst they can to people who aren’t like them. Reminds me Mr. Hitler. Do you know about these bad wizards?” He is antsy and eager in all the ways I admire. One of the reasons I ever agreed to help Neville with his seaweed project was simply because of his passion. When someone cares about knowing and learning, I am a sucker for assisting in any way I can manage. My parents shouldn’t trust me on my own entirely, and I know this as I am very willing to share what I know about the wizarding world with this man. For all I know he could be the wrong person to speak to about it. This could easily be a trap, and I'd be falling for it just because the man looks smart.

But he just doesn’t  _feel_ like the wrong person. So when he buttons up his jacket and waits aggressively - don’t ask me how one waits aggressively, but I’ve been  watching Harry do it for years now - I smile and nod softly; “I know quite a bit. I’m a witch, you know, but I’m a good one. And I know everything.”

Okay, so I don’t know _everything_. And I don’t like to brag, but I sense something about this experience is special. I shouldn’t trust a stranger in a tweed jacket and a red bow tie with a crazy police box but I just _do_. My heart races but not because I’m running or tired. It’s racing because I feel something filling my heart; “I’m the brightest witch of my age, they say.”

“Brilliant!” He shouts and starts running towards this TARDIS of his… But he turns around hesitantly, “Brilliant isn’t actually  _my_  word, not in this regeneration. This form says 'magnificent' quite oft but I felt like 'brilliant' worked best.”

Plenty of questions litter my mind but I hold my tongue. He gestures for me to join him and I know that I shouldn't. A rational person, which is normally me, would never follow a strange man into a strange box. Yet I am compelled to do so and I start walking quickly in his direction. I don't even flinch when he grabs my hands to climb atop the dumpster! This is such a imprudent choice but I'm making it, and I haven't felt this full of life since the first time Viktor kissed me!

Once inside his vibrant blue phone booth he begins dancing around eagerly. Strange as it is, I don't worry myself with it too much. Instead I just glance around and take in who technical the space is and how unfamiliar I am with the equipment. Though, I think most anyone would be unfamiliar with the technology in this police box. Even for the Muggle world it seems very advanced. While I look around I catch him waving his hair in the air joyously; "Go ahead!"

I stare blankly at him while grabbing onto the railing.

“Say it!” He cheers.

“Say what?” I question him. What doesn’t he want me to say about his box?

“Say what _all_ my companions say about it! I do live for it…” He trails off, thinking a bit hard on something. 

“Well, it’s a bit bland, sir, if I’m honest. It doesn’t feel very homey. Something tells me it is a home but it doesn’t look it. It’s a fright, really.” I observe and start wandering about again. Each bit and bob catches my attention and seems full of a foreign magic. I think about how this likely the production of a Muggle engineering and Magical spell casting. It gets me excited to think about my two worlds colliding into something so magnificent. I conclude that this man is  _definitely_ a wizard. Perhaps he's a radical wizard! Someone who refused to abide by the laws set in place to prevents Muggles and magical people from sharing their worlds openly. Oftentimes I think on how Arthur Weasley would be a radical if it weren't for his large family. When the chances arises maybe I could introduce this man to him, and they could talk on and on about fusing our two worlds.

“NO!” He shouts in a small tantrum, “NO!”

“What am I supposed to say then?” I demand in offense. He can’t expect me to read his mind - I mean, Legilimency is not something I could even learn on my own. I would need a professor to teach me, and even if I did ask I would be turned down. Legilimency is not exactly a 'good' magic to be using - especially at my age. Besides, I’m not sure I care to know how to use it.

He stomps over as I run my fingers over knobs and ledges; “Well you’re supposed to tell me it’s bigger on this inside!” He looks offended.

“I mean, it is, isn’t it?” Now it is my turn to shrug at him, “But I knew it would be, sir. That _is_ how magic works. We use these charms on the tents and in some of the dorms at Hogwarts. Extension charms can be used in many ways. Why you chose to live in a phone box, I don’t know, but you’ve definitely done great magic here. You must be quite the sorcerer!” It only just crosses my mind that I should have heard of someone this talented.

And he is talented to have made this all work so well. How else would he have an entire living space contained within the police box? There are at least seven different chambers leading away from this room. Whether they go far, I don’t know, but they look to be lengthy stretches of space. I can only assume the entire inside of this TARDIS, he calls it, is a maze of rooms. What if this man is a professor? There aren’t any certified schools for witches and wizards that are comparable to university, but there are hoards of magical people who teach the next generation of professionals in their field. What if this man is one? I am nearly speechless about the possibility and turn to him, whacking him in the chest unintentionally; “Why are you so close?”

“The TARDIS says you're different. Why are you so different?” He asks, “You can't be a Time Lord, but you _are_ different. What are you?”

“A human, sir. A human and a witch. Are you not the same?” I was hoping for a more civil conversation, one where we introduce ourselves frankly and move smoothly into the topic that brought inside of this TARDIS. He is more abrasive and blunt, it seems, but I do not think I should be as surprised as I currently am. This is likely right on track with his personality type - the pacing type.

“Well, no. I’m neither a human nor a witch, no offense.” He smiles then slips away as quickly as anything else. He’s at the control panel, commanding his box to scan me again. I hadn't even noticed the first time is did this, and I understand why instantly. The box whizzes almost silently before dinging just as softly that it's finished the scan. It verifies that I am a "deviant human."

So I ask, “If you’re not human what are you? I don’t know of any magical species that looks like a human but that doesn’t live in the water. I mean, besides a boggart. You’re no boggart, though, you are not frightening in the slightest.”

He laughs a heartily laugh, and then whirring begins, “I am frightening in ways you don’t even know, young lady.”

Then he whimpers playfully. It is sort of charming, actually. He pokes his long arm at me in an odd fashion, “I’ve been bothering you and dragging you into my TARDIS but I haven’t a name for you, miss. What is your name?”

“Hermione Granger, sir.” I reply, “And yours?” Then I shake his hand coolly. He's broken apart from me before I can even blink. He doesn't stop moving, almost like he's on the run from something. Perhaps he's running from his thoughts just as I was doing just a few minutes ago.

Asking for his name must be something I have done correctly, I assume, based on the grin that parts his lips. His floppy hair wiggles as he jostles and dances in his place. No doubt he looks forward to sharing his name with strangers, “I’m the Doctor. Just the Doctor, by the way.” I laugh boldly at this information. A man who has no name; a man wishing to remain anonymous under the false name 'Doctor.' Still, it doesn't deter me from trusting him in any way. The mention of companions earlier is the only thing assuring me that I'm not the only one to have put my faith in this odd person.

“Well, Just the Doctor, what do you want to know about bad wizards?” Everything I am doing is reckless and so very much unlike me. I shouldn’t be standing in this magical phone box. I shouldn’t be this trusting of a stranger. I have no business galavanting about sharing information about bad wizards. Yet, I cannot stop myself. Something about being here is natural, in the way Harry says fighting Voldemort feels. It’s a gut feeling, he says, and a pain in his scar.

Except for me, its a warm smile and a stuttering in my heart.

“Tell me everything. Maybe I can help.” The Doctor smiles, setting his machine off and nearly killing me in the process.

 


	2. An Unexpected Companion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor invites Hermione Granger onto the TARDIS with the intention of going on an adventure to deal with bad wizards, something he knows nothing about whatsoever. As the afternoon progresses, the pair continue to question one another. Eventually, the Doctor poses the ultimate question to Hermione - will she travel with him as his companion? Hermione, though, only ever does things on her terms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I've only ever written the Doctor in one other other fanfiction. When I did that I wrote in the third person because I felt it is easier to write him from an outside perspective - so this first person narrative is all new to me. I hope I've not insulted his name or made a fool out of him!  
> Feel free to drop a comment or a kudos - otherwise, thanks just for reading!

It is a good thing I look very young, I think to myself, as I pull the girl into the TARDIS. Otherwise this would have looked a bit criminal. Though, I suppose it would look criminal anyway. I’m on top of a dumpster yanking a girl inside of a box. That would look criminal to most humans, I think, and so I shouldn’t be grateful that I look young at all, I guess. But I do because I can.

 

When she gets inside I don’t try to contain my excitement. I don’t really mean to be searching for a new companion, and I know my TARDIS doesn’t wish me to find one just yet since I’m still upset about the whole Manhattan incident, but this young girl isn’t the least bit put off by me and the madness I exude naturally.

 

“Go ahead,” I yip excitedly, “Say it!” I cannot resist shouting at her to say my favorite line. The one thing all of my companions say to me.

 

But she doesn’t say it; “Say what?”

 

What else would a human say after walking into my TARDIS? There’s only one thing that they could say…

 

“Say what _all_ my companions say about it!” I share out loud. Perhaps she’s trying to be rebellious, prove her courage to follow me inside? I smile softly and walk to the control panel, “I do live for it…” I don’t think she hears that and I decide it might be for the better.

 

She goes on about the decoration, of all things. I am surprised by what she’s saying but I don’t exactly listen closely. The computer screen above me is filling in with the scan of my guest, stating that she’s a deviant human. She can’t be a deviant human; it isn’t possible unless an alien has procreated with a human. If there are aliens around then there’s danger. I didn’t fall into danger so I can only assume there’s no danger.

 

Or maybe the danger is the bad wizards – or wizards? Maybe it’s a cult? That’s why she’s here; I’ll have to ask her after I find out why she’s a deviant human. Where did she come from? She’s stopped talking so I run over to her for a second and tell her what I was expecting her to say, what _all of the others have said;_ “Well you’re supposed to say it’s bigger on the inside!”

 

Soon as I’ve spoken I run off again to read the analysis report. She starts talking again; “I mean, it is, isn’t it? But I knew it would be, sir.” I can’t fathom how she’d have known my TARDIS would be bigger on the inside. This young lady must be a bit mental, though Amy was too, wasn’t she? Perhaps she’ll make a great companion if I give her the opportunity. She looks very young though, though not much younger that Amy when I picked her up, and certainly not as young as the Amy with a crack in her wall and her missing parents. She’s somewhere in between those two ages.

 

 

It makes me emotional so I abandon the control panel and run back over to this new person: this _deviant_ human. As I get closer to her and she finishes her thoughts she swings around and smacks in the chest. She immediately looks apologetic, but her voice is stern and demanding.

 

I reply without a thought on it. No use in taking offense over an accident, a real one anyway; “The TARDIS says you’re different.”

 

I pause but not noticeably, “Why are you so different? You can’t be a Time Lord,” I sight, “But you _are_ different. What are you?”

 

One thing Amy used to complain about when I spoke to her was the speed at which I spoke. Sometimes what whirred and buzzed through my mind was too fast and she couldn’t keep up. She learned to highlight what I was saying for Mr. Amy Pond, my favorite man Rory. It worked for them; they always knew enough to be useful. They always knew enough to be _valuable._ Though, they were valuable without being useful to me. I care – _cared_ – so very much for them. I will miss them as companions. I suspect that this is why my TARDIS is keeping me away from adventure and trouble.

 

The girl stares a bit blankly it seems but it passes quickly. She is not the type to linger on the indefinite. I sense something about her that is familiar. I certainly don’t know her, and she clearly doesn’t know me – but she’s _familiar._ I cannot explain it.

 

She explains she’s a human, but that she’s a witch. I’ve never much believed in magic because most magic is just science that humans don’t understand yet. That takes me back to the possibility that aliens must be around here somewhere. Perhaps they’re invading the minds of people and guising their attack as magic! Both hearts are jumping in my chest but I keep myself contained while speaking to this teenager.

 

I focus again just in time to hear her say; “You’re no boggart, though, you are not frightening in the slightest.”

 

How painfully wrong it is that I’m not frightening. There are worlds filled with alien creatures and entire species that tell stories about how frightening I am, and I don’t even regret most of them. I am a terrible man running from a terrible past. She has no idea, and I tell her so; “I am frightening in ways you don’t even know, young lady.”

 

Only then does it occur to me to get her name.

 

And she gives it to me freely! They usually do, but she seems particularly interested in sharing. The young lady is Hermione Granger. She is a witch, she says, and asks if I’m a wizard, which I am not and I say so. I am not a wizard and I am not a human - which I am clear about, I think. I am not of this planet, which I’m not clear about, but will be when the time arises. For now, I want to know about the bad wizards – she says she can tell me everything about them. I have a new scan running on her quickly before I make any arrangements to go anywhere. It returns the same results. I didn’t think I had any reason to fear her but having this scan assures me that I was right. I like being right. So I spin away from the screen and look to Miss Hermione Granger.

 

I offer to take her anywhere she likes to talk, but she says that in here will be fine so long as I have a kitchen. I mean, I do have a kitchen somewhere in here. I needed to manufacture one for Amy and Rory – they did eat quite often. Especially Amy, she loved food. Donna also loved food, but we ate out more than we ate in, so it wasn’t until the Ponds that it became pertinent. Well, I mean, kind of.

 

I’ve need kitchen space before but it was never quite as relevant as when I had the Ponds.

 

So I escort her through the hallways, kind of. I mean, I try to use the sonic to create a few signs so we can find it. She offers to find it on her own if I am lost and what-not, but I definitely won’t let this child show me up and make me a fool in my own TARDIS.

 

Eventually she just sighs and grabs me by my shoulder; “I can’t decide if you’re a madman or a moron at this point.”

 

My eyes widen in shock. Companions don’t argue with me – even Amy didn’t argue with me like that. She always had a smile but this girl isn’t smiling. She’s very serious. I haven’t had a serious companion in a long time. I’m usually the serious one!

 

“I can get us there without knowing where it is!” She insists. A bit of mumbling under her breath makes a stick become visible around her calf. It is impolite to stare but I am definitely staring. It’s a very beautiful stick, I must admit, but why a stick? She lifts it up and tells me to pay attention to the path and to shout the directions back to her. I am not used to being confused – not to being the ‘companion’ in any scenario.

 

But I am, and I’m getting ready to ask my questions when she says quite simply with closed eyes, “Depulso.”

 

It sends me flying away. There’s a tingling in my limbs that is unfamiliar. I nearly forget the instructions she’s given me, but I manage to start screaming back at her – her running feet barely a blip of sound in my mind; “Left! Left! Right! Left! Straight! Left!” And we do this for about five minutes before we find the room that is my kitchen. When we are together again she looks at me with surprised.

 

“Not a wizard?” She questions aloud at me, “At least it worked.” For a moment I nearly shout at her for being reckless. Then I recount the times I put my companions in danger on a whim that an idea could maybe work. I also recount the times I’ve lost companions because plans go awry. I choose not to yell about the risk she was posing – also partly because I didn’t know of a risk when I let her do it – and keep my mouth perfectly shut on the matter. So I comment on the part of her statement.

 

“Definitely not a wizard. I can’t do that.” I remind her, “Though, it would be helpful.” It would be. My sonic can’t make people fly. It can make machines and technology do a bunch of stuff. Sonic devises are helpful in a lot of crazy ways but a magic stick! A wand, as they call it, that would be a brand new level of warfare! Well, not warfare because I like the avoid wars. Wars have causalities…

 

“So what are you?” She asks, not even pretending that she’s going to talk about the bad wizards that brought her into the TARDIS in the first place. Doors are opening as quickly as I’m blinking. There’s not much for grocery in here since I don’t really care to use the kitchen, obviously. She’s skulking from spot to spot in an effort to find something edible. In the end, she settles for a spot of tea because there’s nothing that can be turned into anything quickly, not even with magic apparently.

 

“I’m an alien, I suppose.” I say to her, “Since I’m not a human I must be an alien. Humans would call me an alien.” I am definitely an alien but I don’t feel as much on Earth. Earth is as much my home as Trenzalore. I spend much of my time finding companions here, and staying here with them, and saving this planet in particular. I am not an alien to Earth – only its people.

 

“I wouldn’t say alien, that sounds too savage.” Hermione the Human replies. I don’t know why I’ve called her Hermione the Human but it seems fitting. She did specify that she was a human, and she did mock me when I said ‘Just the Doctor.’

 

“My species is Time Lord. I’m a Time Lord,” I share, “I’m _the_ Time Lord. Last one, actually.” I don’t let my voice sound too emotional. It still hurts, even after regenerating four times. Nothing makes it easier. To keep myself focused I watch her with fascination, or maybe anticipation, or maybe even both.

 

“I’ve never heard of Time Lords. Are they magic creatures?” Calm companions are hard to come by, and even my calmest company has not been as comfortable as she. Hermione Granger is completely cool under the influx of new information. Others have usually hit an information overload, or have started questioning the reality of it all. But she doesn’t.

 

She just doesn’t.

 

“It is an honest alien species. Aliens are very real, despite what most humans think. Even though this planet is constantly under attack, the vast majority of your kind doesn’t believe in us.” I wait and watch with my hands in my pockets as she makes the tea. If she has magic I’m afraid I don’t understand why she’s making everything by hand. I don’t like domestic things. The closest to domestic I’ve come is when Rose was around.

 

I loved Rose Tyler, but that was in my last regeneration. I’ve distanced myself from the agony of that loss. There have been a fair number of companions that I’ve picked up since her, and I don’t want to re-open that wound.

 

“Oh.” She says in a flat tone. “I’m a witch so I go to a special school of magic. I don’t know as much about science as my Muggle friends. They do talk about aliens from time to time. I think there’s an American show that gets a lot of attention.”

 

I know whom she’s talking about, of course. Tsoukalos is his name, a human bystander to much of the work of Torchwood. As such, he tends to have a darker view of aliens than perhaps others, but that’s a side effect of most things American, I think. Even the Torchwood base in America is more vicious and relentless than it’s European counterparts. I’ve never been fond of Torchwood, though I know Martha Jones works there now. She makes it better, but it’s hard to counteract the impression of the likes of Captain Jack Harkness.

 

There’s really no cure for his effect, I don’t think.

 

“What’s a Muggle?” I question her, though context tells me it’s a human who doesn’t have magic. A standard human would be a Muggle to her, I suppose. She confirms it quickly, and actually shared that she was born a Muggle. She only found out the summer before her first school year would start that she had magic. It is not unheard of, though a bit uncommon.

 

The tea is ready and she sets us up at the table. Hermione sets the table and I just observe her. I try to pinpoint subtle differences between her and the others. I’ve never come across real magic, but hers is genuine. She pulls dishes out at the flick of her wrist and barely audible words. Then she gets out napkins and sugar without speaking at all!

 

I am going to like having her around.

 

“About these bad wizards…”

 

There’s a hush for a moment, but it is only because she’s adjusting to sit down and have a proper conversation. The second that she gets settles with her cup in her hand she grins; “Bad wizards don’t like people like me.”

 

“Teenage girls? I guess I can see that.” I make bad jokes sometimes. Amy hated my bad jokes. This girl seems to get a laugh out of it; even if it’s only for a moment.

 

“Not exactly,” Her eyes shift a moment. Clearly the reason is hard for her to accept. I deduce that she has probably struggled with this reality in the past. I wait for her to keep going but it takes a few minutes. Her slurping and the clanging of our cups on the tables mask the pause, but she does start speaking again; “The bad wizards believe that only pureblood magic people deserve to use their magic. The school I go to used to be offered to magic people borne of other magic people.”

 

From there she explains about their leader, a vicious man named Voldemort, amassed followers hell bent on getting rid of witches and wizards who weren’t from magic families. It is very similar to Adolf Hitler, and every other alien species I’ve ever fought. As she tells me the story, it reminds me of the daleks specifically. Voldemort has some similar qualities to Davros, after all, and I don’t admire the person responsible for standing up against them.

 

I listen intently and offer to make a new pot of tea for us when we’ve drunk through it all. Hermione informs me of her best friend, a Mr. Harry Potter, and how she helps him against the dark magic that finds him. I believe everything she tells me and once she’s finished informing of this Triwizard Tournament I don’t know how to help her.

 

  
Thankfully, she doesn’t ask me how I can help. I think she is settled in helping her friends defeat this evil in her world. Humans are magnificent that way. The best of them would give themselves for the betterment of the world, and most others just want to save the people they love. I will find a way to help her, even if it is in a different matter.

 

“Where did you hear about the wizards anyway? Magical business and politics are kept in our world.” Hermione inquires. Given everything that she’s told me, this is a valid question. I’ve never been involved with her kind before and her world is locked up tight in secrets from the “Muggles.” Even I’m curious how I heard it.

 

So I run through my mind and play the scene back to myself. I recount everything that I could recall. Rows of cobblestone houses, a strange graveyard by a church, and there was a an elderly woman walking around with a somewhat younger man than she, though it couldn’t have been by much. They’d been talking politics, I recall.

 

 _“Nobody is reporting a fair story anymore.”_ The man had said, it was the first thing I heard. I nod along as she watches and keep playing the conversation.

 

 _“The Ministry has the Prophet under their control. When was the last time there was an honest story in the Prophet.”_ She laughed in a way that reminded me of fresh baked cookies. A sound that reminded me a smell, or a feeling specifically – something I don’t enjoy often.

 

 _“All of these bad wizards they’re claiming are naysayers – they’re just kids.”_ The man grumbled angrily. I remember him nearly crossing his brows and huffing his chubby cheeks. The woman nodded at him and proclaimed that blaming kids is a desperate tactic.

 

Hermione runs her hands through her hair nervously and sways in her seat. No longer is she drinking from her coffee and trying to keep this light and casual. All of the information is being logged, I think, and she’s going to use it later when it is important.

 

“There was another time, too, just a couple of days ago. I was passing through a pub a friend of mine used to like…” It wasn’t in London, but it must have been a safe place for witches and wizards to go. The mention was just by a bartender, who was warning a patron to watch his mouth. Some people might call him a bad wizard, and it would ruin his family’s reputation.

 

Hearing this makes Hermione laugh. Her eyes light up a bit, though, as if the person she’s speaking of brings her some joy. I listen intently, waiting to learn more about her; “I know a family that couldn’t care less if the public knew about their elitist views. Their son used to bother me quite a bit about being a Muggle-born.” She laughs quickly again, “But I think I’ve given him a _run_ for his galleons! I’m the only student in our year that can challenge his intellectual abilities.”

 

After she speaks she bends over and giggles almost uncontrollably. I even ask if she’s made a joke in some way, but she can’t seem to pull it together to say anything to me. I just let it go and pull my sonic out. I close the door and point the sonic at the floor. I’m hoping it will set up lights leading us back to the control room. The doors won’t open for anyone else so there’s no worry that somebody will come it, but there’s always the worry that someone will find the TARDIS and move it.

 

At least I’d be _inside_ this time.

 

When Hermione stops all of her giggling she and I agree to go back to the main room. Along the way she finally inquires about the TARDIS; “What does that even stand for?”

 

Time

And

Relative

Dimension

In

Space

 

“Basically it’s a spaceship that can take you anywhere in the galaxy at any time. You just say when and where and off we’ll fly.” I gallop and grin as I finish telling her. Hermione seems equally as excited about this information as I am, which is fantastic. Most people question it. It’s nice to have a companion who doesn’t always question things.

 

Though I do miss some of the usual questions; the ones that boost my ego a bit. I like those questions a lot, honestly. I have my flaws – and my arrogance is probably one that won’t go away with any of my regenerations. It gets me into trouble, but that’s why I have companions.

 

Once we are in the central chamber I start listing off places that I’ve been, telling her about the numerous companions that I’ve had. She asks if I mean for her to be a companion and I lie to her. Generally I don’t have to convince my companions to come with me, not really. In the end, they all want me to show them the stars. Something about this girl – I’m worried I’ll have to formally invite her.

 

I shouldn’t be worried about that…

 

“I don’t know that I’m old enough to be a companion, Doctor.” She shares out loud, “I am only fifteen.” I watch as she fiddles with some of the edges and metal plate covers for fuse boxes. She even runs her hand cautiously over one of my levers. Fifteen is quite young, I’m aware, but there’s something special about this young lady.

 

She _did_ tell me that people say she’s the brightest witch of her age. That can’t be an easy task to complete, I would imagine. I feel like it’s sort of like trying to be the worst dalek of one’s age, probably. Or maybe I’m just trying to justify bringing on a young companion again. It’s been several regenerations since I’ve had a companion this young – my sixth actually.

 

Hermione Granger would be, for sure, my youngest companion to date. So I smile at her kindly, reminding myself that she is just a child; “If you would rather not then I certainly understand. It would be quite dangerous to travel with me. Many of my companions die.”

 

“Oh, not a problem for me, Doctor.” Hermione grins, “Every time I go to Hogwarts I am sure to be faced with a harrowing near-death experience.”

 

“Doesn’t sound like a safe school.” I make the best grown-up expression of concern I can manage, but my cheeks pull my lips back in a wide grin. She twists about and turns her gaze to the control panel. A moment passes where she looks briefly concerned, as if maybe she’s worried that something will be taken from her. I don’t identify it as horror – but mild frustration.

 

I am confident that Hermione Granger has what it takes to be a companion; “You don’t have to travel with me all of the time. You can call on me when you want. I can give you a phone for it.”

 

I realize how this might be a bit odd, of course, since I’m much older than fifteen. I’m not trying to groom her or anything, simply give her the technology she needs to stay in touch. She doesn’t even have to take it. As I think more on it, I haven’t actually properly theorized what age my body is in this form. If we were technical, I’m actually younger than she is by actual years. I’ve been in this regeneration for fewer years than she’s been alive. Of course, I was more Amy’s peer than this young lady’s. But Amy was nineteen when we started travelling. If I passed as that young then I would definitely be Hermione’s peer.

 

“I have a phone, but if you’ve got a number I might be able to smuggle my phone to Hogwarts. I don’t know if it would work but I’m sure I’d find a spell that I could manipulate.” I don’t understand what she means so she starts explaining quickly. Hogwarts is a part of London, but it uses magic to separate the two “worlds” from one another. So it isn’t a separate dimension – which I sort of believe – but rather a place concealed and protected by magic from the Muggles.

 

Since cell phones are still relatively new for humans at this time, well, she isn’t sure how well they’ll work since witches and wizards likely won’t even understand them until a few decades after they’ve been around, “They’re a bit slow to pick these things up, you see, since magic makes most of this stuff irrelevant.”

 

“A TARDIS is a vital part of technology to a Time Lord. We can’t be proper Time Lords without them.” I remark. The wizarding world will be quite a culture shock for me. I’ve been to primitive places but I’m useful with my sonic at least. I’m not sure my sonic would work at this Hogwarts. Actually, I don’t think anything I could talk about with anyone at Hogwarts would be useful either. None of them would understand technology in the slightest.

 

“What’s it like being a Time Lord? If you can travel through time and space – do you have an age? Are you able to control how you age?” Hermione asks questions that don’t usually come up. Most companions haven’t so much worried about my age, how the aging process works, or anything along the lines of my personal experience as a Time Lord. They know I’m pained, sure, and they know I care fiercely about preserving the universe. They know that I regenerate, when it comes up in conversation, but much beyond that I’m an adventurer. They learn who I am in a time of distress, when I need to have a plan. Few have actually ventured to know me as an individual beyond just my identity as a Time Lord. Some days, I forget that I even have a personality beyond my duties to the entire galaxy.

 

You can spend years at someone’s side and never properly know them. I’ve too many companions who simply never knew about my life, my actual life. So I decide to let Miss Hermione Granger in a little more than the others. I don’t figure a reason that I shouldn’t; “I have these regenerations – so when I die I reform and recreate myself and come back. I’ve only got twelve cycles. This is my last one, actually. Once when I regenerated I stayed exactly the same – because I didn’t need to change, I suppose. Usually when I come back my entire appearance changes, so I get older or younger based on what is best for my self preservation.”

 

Hermione steps closer and badgers me with a deluge of queries about my present experience. Am I younger or older than my last regeneration? Younger, of course, because I was growing somewhat complacent, I think. Why is my hair long and floppy (she feels that it must get in the way, and says that she’s worried she’ll have to cut her friend’s hair before classes start at school)? I state that my last forms were shorthaired and that the change could potentially affect the way enemies feel as I approach them – less threatening with a modern human appearance. Also, it could help make me appealing as a traveling partner better fit for the job.

 

“You are quite handsome, Doctor, but that’s a bit of a petty reason to change your appearance.” After that she asks how my wardrobe is handled, so I just tell her my current clothes were nicked from a locker room. Eyes roll faster than I can hope to keep up with, which is quite a feat. Apparently there’s a line to be crossed for her, and nicking clothes is one of them.

 

We chat further; she wants to know if I’ve had a family or how my travels through time and space affect my personal life. I speak honestly about how I lost my family, but only to a certain degree. She doesn’t need to know about the Wars just yet. I tell her my wife, River Song, died trying to save me in a library. She was particularly moved by that information, saying she wishes she could have met this River Song before her passing. That’s when I say I still come across her from time to time, being that she’s a Time Lady. Hermione smiles a bit and let’s me move forward with more information.

 

Next I tell her about the companions. I tell her always love them; I love them usually as one would love their own children. It doesn’t seem important to tell her that I’ve fallen in love with some of my companions in the past but that is only because she is so young. I won’t be falling in love with Hermione Granger. So I only share the basics about the most recent ones, just enough to avoid an emotional outburst. Once I finish debriefing her on the highlights of The Doctor, we sort of stand there just facing one another.

 

“I feel a bit dramatic now.” Hermione reaches out and places a hand on my forearm. My head jerks to look at her hand sitting there softly against my jacket. It feels motherly somehow, even though she’s just a child. Her friends are lucky to have her if she can express how much she cares with such a miniscule act of affection.

 

“How do you mean, Miss Granger?” I ask in turn.

 

“I was worrying about little things making a difference in my life. What if I went to a different school of magic? What if this boy asked me to the ball instead of this one? It all seems silly now.” She is young, though, and _should_ be worrying about these things. Normal teenagers get to whine and whimper about petty things because they have a charmed life, honestly. They’re not warriors the second they are conscious enough to fight in wars. Hermione may find it dramatic but I find it to be magnificent that a mind like hers is able to latch onto such average grievances. I like normal humans, even if she’s a deviant one. I like her.

 

“I can’t take you to alternate universes, but I can take you back in time. A few years barely passes as more than a few hours in the present time, especially if my TARDIS takes us to the correct moment!” My eagerness overtakes me and I’m bouncing around, already hitting buttons to prime the engine. I almost fail to see Hermione make her way to the door. I don’t know why but it seems as though she’s running away from the confrontation – from the opportunity to explore the other options. Hermione Granger almost seems to be running away from herself.

 

It reminds me of me, in a way.

 

“We can go and if you don’t like it we will come back.” I shouldn’t try to convince her. She should want to come willingly and I know this. So I refuse to speak any further. It has to be her choice. I cannot and will not force her to go anywhere she isn’t interested in going at this time. I try to hard with other companions and they all face bitter ends, even when they’re not dying. Time travelling was as much apart of Amy & Rory’s life as it is mine, and it was taken from them all just to save me. There is no way I will let such a thing happen with Miss Granger.

 

Hermione lingers the door. Her mind is working no differently that any machine works, and I find that darling in the plainest way. I wait anxiously, assuming that the longer she stays the more likely she is to want to travel with me, even if is to handle teenager stuff like boys, schools, and dances. My heart flutters with the unknown outcome standing before me.

 

I, unfortunately, can’t travel forward in time to learn the outcome of this event – in my life. I create them, so I am generally always being taken by surprise by the things that happen to me directly. Though, I can travel through time and tell someone how it is they’ll die – or where it is they’ll work – or any matter of domestic things that they’d want to know from their futures. Never can I figure out my future, though, and sometimes I fear that this is for the best.

 

I appreciate what I have more, and I know that it’s hard for me to do sometimes having lived as long as I’ve lived.

 

“Take me back to December. Take me back to my house and then take me to Hogwarts.” Hermione declares rather loudly. I think it is louder than she means it to be, but she does repeat what she’s said in a more level tone; “Take me to my house in the present first. From there we will go back in time to Hogwarts.”

 

“I can do that, my dear. Just give me your address.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione has gone back to December with The Doctor so that she can figure out something: Did Ron ever consider her a viable date for the Yule Ball? She knows it is petty but she gets caught up in trying to understand her feelings, so she remains committed to her plan to track him down and find out more.

For reasons that are far more reasonable than one might think, I have an extra set of robes in my messenger bag from school for Ron. He never keeps a set of robes on him when he boards the train – every year he forgets! So I’ve been keeping a set of his attire in my messenger bag for a couple of years now so that he’s not scrambling to fit into some of Harry’s extras for the welcoming feast.

 

I think it would be silly to go back to Hogwarts and try to pass this man off as anything other than a student. People _might_ believe he’s always been around if he’s dressed in proper attire, assuming they’ve just never seen him. Seventh years are significantly older, after all. I could even say he’s an older Ravenclaw – and they’ll all assume he’s hidden himself to study! It isn’t unheard of…

 

Anyway, I go in the front door and tell my parents I’m back, but they’re in their respective offices. My father is likely pouring over dental records that he’s brought home. As for my mother, she’s likely re-filing all of her paperwork – her new receptionist might not actually know the alphabet. So I pull the Doctor in behind me and we make a beeline for my bedroom.

 

I throw the robes at him; “You’ll need to wear these.” Then I dig out my own robes. He stands there a bit confused. I figure he doesn’t know where to change, or why he’s changing. So I explain our dress code – that generally we’re expected to be in our robes. I tell him there’s some leniency with the older students, many in the sixth and seventh years wear suits and dresses instead of robes – but it’s always formal attire for classes. He looks at his own clothes and seems confused.

 

“You are not dressed up enough for that to be acceptable attire at school. Just put the robes on over what you’re wearing, but leave the jacket and tie here. I can magic the trousers as needed.” Then I quickly shuffle him into my closet to change in privacy. Then I sidestep the door and change, too, so that he can’t peer through the space between my doors and see me. I don’t have any reason to think that he would, honestly, but on the off chance it happens I would rather just take the precaution.

 

I cannot say how good it feels to be back in my uniform. I don’t dread the summers with my parents, not by a long shot, but I don’t always look forward to the time off. I do, but I wish it were shorter. I always want to be back at Hogwarts learning and working magic to become the best witch I can be and make a difference.

 

“So you say back to December, eh? Early December?” He is at a keyboard of a computer; I only just barely know what a computer is and how it works. I’ve tried using one at a library once but it was too embarrassing not knowing how to us it at all. They are still relatively new bits of technology; my parents only just got one for the home a few months ago. I keep telling my parents I’ll have to get on theirs and practice so I’m less of a spectacle using the equipment.

 

“Yes, the first week of December should be fine. The ball was right before the Christmas holiday.” My plan is to confront Ron more directly about why he never thought to ask me – why the boys _both_ never thought to take me as their date. I know why Harry wasn’t interested in doing that, of course, after the media surrounding our “relationship” emerged after the first task. I was already spotted with Viktor Krum, in a far more intimate way – which the boys might have known had anyone actually _read_ the article. There was a bit of drama created about my love life – and Harry’s – so asking me wasn’t the right option for him. He had to be more conscientious about his choice. But Ron – he _could_ have asked me, and I believe he _should_ have asked me.

 

He didn’t and that’s what I want to know. The Doctor doesn’t seem to be judging me for this viciously selfish decision. I know he’s gone on fantastical adventures where he’s saved entire populations of aliens, and I know without him saying that he’s a war hero. This has to be the most boring trip he’s made for anyone but it suits me. I don’t need help with the return of Voldemort and his Death Eaters. I’ve got adults and friends who I trust to help me, to help Harry, so having the Doctor seems a bit over done.

 

“How much do you like this young man that we’re going to meet?” He asks after slamming down a lever. It throws him back into me and it keeps us pressed against the railing. It’s all a bit too close, but I’ve learned to share my personal space over the last few months.

 

So I just do what I should do, which is reply to his question in this awkward situation; “I don’t know. That’s sort of why I want to go back and talk to him. This is all new to me. I’m not good with people. I don’t even know how I’ve got friends, honestly.”

 

The Doctor nods with a lopsided smile. He must understand a bit what I mean, or he must completely believe that I would have difficulties in my social life. I don’t take linger on either possibility and simply keep talking, “I don’t mean to take you on such a wasteful adventure. You’ll mostly be a third wheel unless you explore the school while I do what I need to do.”

 

This captures his attention. He is suddenly very giggly at the thought and starts muttering to himself about all of the things that he could learn about this tertiary world. I wonder if letting him explore the grounds is a wise choice. I don’t want to tell him that I’ve already changed my mind, so I just let him think he’s going to do it.

 

We can cross that bridge when the time arises. First, we just need to make sure he gets us to the correct date and time. I’ve given him some pretty loose parameters so it shouldn’t be a failed attempt but I know nothing about the TARDIS and how it works. I don’t know its accuracy of travel at all. My hopes aren’t set very high.

 

As soon as the TARDIS stops whirring we both lurch into one another and fall onto the floor. I guess I don’t have grace of any sort on a spaceship. Quickly we scramble to our feet and scurry to the door. I’m the first to peek outside.

 

 

“Of course we landed in the forest. Why would we have landed anywhere else?” A bitter sigh bursts through my lips. I don’t particularly mind the Forbidden Forest, of course. I’ve spent a ridiculous amount of time in the forest, actually. Between classes, personal ventures, and quests to save people – well – I’ve been out here an awful lot. Landing in the forest is more of an inconvenience than anything. Nobody will happen across the TARDIS out here, I don’t think, but getting back to it will be a hassle most certainly. I should consider it good luck, since anywhere would have likely caused a variety of other worse problems.

 

I shake my head to clear my mind and step out of the TARDIS. When I don’t hear anything to indicate the Doctor is following I urge for him to join me. Moments later he is at the door with wide eyes and the robe fitting a bit small. I thought about fixing it, but if anyone asks questions I suppose ill-fitted clothes and a strange personality would make it easier to explain away any issues. A spell gone wrong, I could explain with ease.

 

I am too comfortable with lying and being selfish these days. I’ll have to assess at one point I became so self absorbed. Or maybe I was always arrogant and I’ve only just begun noticing it. Quickly I shuffle about to find a clear path, reading myself for action.

 

“I need to find a calendar and verify the date. I can probably sneak into Hagrid’s hut and verify. He keeps one by his fireplace.” The Doctor doesn’t follow me when I start moving. He actually starts brambling around the TARDIS and picking up various plants and twigs. I have to double back to grab him; “You are _not_ staying out here by yourself. You’ll die. You’ll proper die, Doctor, and I won’t have it.”

 

So we make our way out of the forest. Navigating it comes easily enough to me once I get my bearings, having been out here so many times, but the Doctor actually falls over quite a bit. I chalk it up to the robes catching on everything, which I’m sure he’s not used to wearing. It also could be the forest, which does have plants that change magically at any point in time without warning. It takes a soft reminder that he’s not used to this for me stop being frustrated.

 

Finally we reach the edge of the forest. I can see Hagrid’s gardens from here, but I have to wait for him to be doing something that takes all of his attention. If he’s at his home working then there’s a chance he’ll go inside. Since I can’t say exactly where I’m supposed to be at this point in time, well, it would raise some suspicions and questions if he brings it up with the boys. So I just sit in the brush with the Doctor and wait for a plan to sprout into my funny little brain.

 

“Do you do a lot of waiting for opportune moments, Doctor?” I ask to start some small talk. I catch him shaking his head quickly. I should have supposed not. Sitting still is not something he does well, if he even does it at all. I don’t know many people that move that fast or that often, honestly. I wish I could theorize more specifically what is going on but I’ll have to get to know him a bit better.

 

“I make opportune moments.” The doctor says to me.

 

“How would you create an opportune moment here, then?” I suppose I could do something to distract Hagrid, like with the time turner in third year. I threw a rock to get us out of the cottage. Perhaps I wasn’t nearly as prepared for these travels as I would have thought ten minutes ago, but the Doctor’s many years have made him very wise.

 

A Time Lord, huh? How long has he lived? Does he time even matter to him? Is he constrained by the laws of time? I wonder if he even ages at all, because he wouldn’t know how to properly keep track of the time he’s been alive when he’s hopping all through it.

 

Just then the Doctor runs out of the forest. I should go stop him and drag him right back in, but Hagrid sees him before I make a confident decision. So I stand back and stay as coy as possible. The Doctor manages to get Hagrid’s attention immediately. Though, I suppose it wouldn’t be that hard.

 

I can faintly hear the conversation as I sneak in his back door. The Doctor is a loud man. So it Hagrid.

 

_“My mates spelled me and left me in the forest. I haven’t made it over to this part of the grounds. Can you help me back inside?”_

_“Just follow the path, lad.”_ Hagrid isn’t usually so short. I almost wonder if he’s having a bit of a bad day. I’m curious as to what is bothering him. Maybe I’ll swing by a bit later to talk to him about it. We all leave him behind a bit, sometimes, and he deserves just an evening chat over tea.

 

_“Where in the castle will I come out? I’m looking for the library from here.”_

_“When you go inside just keep going until the main entrance. You should be able to find your way from there. Just stay moving straight and you’ll get your sorted out.”_ Hagrid surprises me but I stay focused on my mission. I see the calendar and am counting on him having marked off the days. He’s always done so in the past.

 

Thankfully he’s a creature of habit and has done exactly as he always has before. Today is Friday, which means the Yule Ball is in a week, which also means today is the day that Ron and Harry were talking about dates for the dance during study hall. I’ll have to compliment the Doctor’s TARDIS when we return. I wasn’t’ expecting the travel to be so accurate.

 

I escape through the back door and meet The Doctor as he walks around to the path and starts jogging up. Once I’m sure Hagrid won’t see me meeting up with him I run as fast as I do in the mornings. He’s smiling when I catch up; “He seems a bit dense.”

 

I don’t grin back, “He is, but only because he’s a good man.”

 

“Apologies, then.” The Doctor picks up instantly that I don’t appreciate his tone. He thought he’d gotten away with something but he hasn’t. Any other day Hagrid would have asked questions – like why is a boy acting like he’s lost when he’s wearing Hogwarts attire? Even if he was a student from Durmstrang, why doesn’t he know the full layout of the school already? It’s been a couple of months so he should be able to figure out such simple things. And if he really couldn’t, Hagrid would have assumed he’d drank too much ale and brought him inside to sober up.

 

There is something off about Hagrid, and I just don’t want the Doctor thinking he’s managed to do anything impressive. He hasn’t.

 

“I can take you to the library and leave you there if that’s where you’d like to go while I attend to my personal business. You’ll have to promise to stay out of trouble, though.” I offer as an alternative to his expected wandering. Silence waves between us as we coolly enter the castle. The Doctor is thinking on it. He said his wife died for him in a library, but I cannot help but think he would still have a fascination for the unfamiliar content. This is all brand new to him. I would imagine as a man travelling all of time and space that he would like to learn anything foreign.

 

“That seems fair.” He agrees finally. I urge him to keep his head down, which I do as well. Today my hair is tied back which means people won’t necessarily recognize me at first glance. Even in potions I’ve left my hair down more than I’ve pulled it back. Doing it up is just more time spent on beauty than I’ve ever felt is worth it. Sometimes, admittedly, I don’t even brush my hair all the way through. If there’s time for brushing then there’s time for studying.

 

I’ve started putting a little more thought into my appearance, but only enough to occasionally put some pins in my hair or braid it occasionally. All of it, of course, is just to seem more girlish. Ginny isn’t girlish either, which I suppose is part of the reason we are friends. What we think is gussied up barely passes for suitably casual for most young ladies. As such, we keep close.

 

“I’ll take you to the library first.” Hermione starts guiding The Doctor around some halls, which have fewer and fewer people in them. Most of the students study in the great hall this time of day so that they can snack until dinner. Other students study in the privacy of their dorms and common rooms, where they can get help from people they trust. Only the most studious of students actually spend their time studying in the library. Most of them find the quiet discomforting.

 

Just as we round the corner, The Doctor runs into another student absently. I haven’t any idea how he’s managed it, but I quickly pull him up and push him behind me. I’m shorter than him, so it’s not much help, but he does well to sort of look sideways.

 

“My apologies!” I shout nervously. I’m only nervous for a second, though, because the student stands and pulls his hid away from his face. It is none other than Draco Malfoy.

 

Any other day this might have irritated me, but I’m actually glad. We keep secrets between us well, though it’s hardly much of a secret worth keeping. It would change the dynamic between them – and it would certainly get Draco in a fair bit of trouble if anyone knew; “Granger.”

 

“Malfoy, my goodness,” I let a breath of relief out and nudge the Doctor closer to the wall, “Can I just say I’m happy to see you?”

 

“Afraid I can’t return the feeling. Who’s this?” He lifts his chin gently to the man behind me: The Doctor. I hadn’t really planned a response if this question came up. Since it is Draco Malfoy that we’ve run into, though, I feel I can tell the truth. Some of the truth, at least…

 

So I try a _partial_ truth; “He’s a bit of an odd wizard. He showed up and isn’t sure how to leave just yet. I’m bringing him to the library to sit while I deal with some personal business.” The Doctor pinches my arm but I pay no mind. Draco Malfoy wouldn’t believe the _whole_ truth. I’m giving him a sort of distorted version of it. I’m thinking about asking him to sit with The Doctor, so I want him to feel as comfortable and informed as possible. I’ll deal with those consequences later.

 

“He’s a bit of a _clumsy_ wizard, if you ask me.” Draco huffs, but his signature smirk makes its way to his lips. He makes a very daring amount of eye contact with me. We’ve never actually been totally comfortable with one another, but it seems that Draco doesn’t view me as any more or less than him in this moment. It is probably one of the only times he’ll see me as an equal.

 

“Well, he’s not familiar with our customs. He’s a loner, honestly, and needs a bit of watching.” I raise my brows at him, asking for a favor without actually asking. I am a completely madwoman to trust Draco Malfoy – Harry’s more-or-less sworn enemy. The Malfoys were responsible for bringing Tom Riddle (A.K.A. Voldemort)’s diary back to the school to set a basilisk on the Muggle-born students (including me, by the way). I shouldn’t trust him even a little.

 

But boy do I trust him right now. Draco like’s having secrets, I think, and this would be the ultimate secret.

 

Draco eyeballs The Doctor before stepping closer to me, sure to keep his face turned away from any passersby; “Why would I help you, Granger?”

 

“Because I could start a rumor that you run with me in the mornings. Because I could imply that you’re a man after my own heart. Because I’m very quite dangerous if provoked. Or don’t you remember?” I didn’t think I’d have to actually threaten him. I sort of expected he’d just go along with it. I don’t know why I thought that. I don’t know why I’m doing any of the things I’m doing right now. Hermione Granger, a bonkers loose cannon at the age of just fifteen years.

 

Being a teenager is a bit of nasty work and I don’t like it.

 

Draco laughs, very loudly, and directly into my face; “I’m legitimately impressed. I’ll watch your stranger, Granger, but for a price. We’ll discuss the terms in the morning?”

 

I don’t think I’ll remember this in the past. Tomorrow me is not the same as _tomorrow_ me. Draco winks at me before ushering The Doctor into the library. I call after them, “Restricted Section, yes?”

 

“Of course.” Draco replies in a deeper voice than I was anticipating.

 

I already fear the consequences of my actions.

 

When I pick up The Doctor, I’ll have to pull Draco aside and discuss terms then – try to make arrangements for a very future time. A time that I’ll actually be able to control, I think, so that this doesn’t backfire terribly on me.

 

Then I race to the Gryffindor common room. The portrait looks confused, but I daren’t ask her why at this point. Maybe I’ve just walked in – maybe she doesn’t know why I’m here. Maybe I just left. There are a lot of maybes because I have never done anything like this in my life. Even using a Time Turner wasn’t like this – with the time restrictions that it had.

 

The thought of how many laws I have to be breaking just to find out if my crush feels the same crosses my mind with a dark streak in it’s wake. Once again I’m shaking my head to forget how self-centered I’ve decided to be by coming back in the time.

 

One I get inside, there’s nobody there. Good. I can sit back and wait to see when Ron and Harry come in the common room. They returned much later than I did that night, so I’ll just hide myself somewhere – I decide to sit inside the wardrobe where old lost and found robes hang out – and wait for their voices. Once they come in I’ll sneak out of the wardrobe and play it off that I’m coming down the steps. I didn’t talk to them for the rest of the night so I’ll have a clear opportunity to figure out whether or not Ron ever thought I was an option.

 

Whether or not he ever was interested in actually going with me…


	4. A Trip Worth Remembering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione must trust her feelings to find the answers she has travelled back in time to find. This means trusting someone who should be an enemy and questioning the value of a friend...  
> But how does she fare when dealing with all of these feelings?

_“I can’t believe he thought nobody had asked me!”_ My voice is shrill. I don’t remember having been that upset at the time, but apparently I was still very offended. There’s nobody even with me when I come in, and there’s nobody around. I am the first one back from classes, which was unusual. On any night I can be caught sneaking in after curfew from the library because I lose track of time, each and every night.

 

Not this day, though, because I didn’t want to do anything but chow down on pumpkin pasties and read from some of my favorite Muggle books. I remember considering whether to vent Viktor about what a sod Ron was being – acting as if I wasn’t even a _girl!_ He’d insinuated exactly that, I remember clearly.

 

_“Hermione, you’re a girl.”_

Well, duh, Ronald Bilious Weasley. I’ve been a girl for fifteen years of my life. That is, in fact, my _whole_ life! Just hearing me ranting about it on my way up the stairs gets me fired up again. I almost change my mind about the matter with the freshness of it all rushing back into my chest.

 

I cannot say for sure what keeps me in the wardrobe but I press my back against the backboard and bite my lip. Feelings are such a mess, it seems. I don’t even know how much I actually like Ron. It _feels_ like a meaningless crush. As if I’m just looking for people I respect and care about to see me as more than just a smart friend. Why do I want Ron and Harry to see me as more than their teacher’s pet companion?

 

Honestly, I already know why it is I want Harry to see me as more than just another friend – he could have actually died this year. On more than one occasion this past year he nearly _did_ die. Wanting a more substantial relationship made sense psychologically. Unfortunately, I couldn’t explain what it was I was hoping to gain from being closer to Ron. Why would I want that when he’s never been all that kind to me?

 

He was jealous of Harry this, too. This was the first time I’d seen him legitimately upset with Harry about something relatively trivial. I would argue with him and tell him not to be, just as I would argue with Harry to humble himself and confront Ron without discounting his feelings. The whole year I felt little more than an owl. Even at the Yule Ball when the two abandoned their dates, the poor Patil sisters, there was a disdain in Ron’s watchful eyes. He didn’t _feel_ that he could trust either of his closest friends.

 

And the only thing I _felt_ was that he could have trusted me if he wanted to – _but he didn’t. He_ did not trust _me._ Seeing this in his eyes, his expressions, in his body language; it has left a foul taste in my mouth that is now consuming my every thought. I can’t imagine how Viktor manages to still be interested in such a bitter young girl.

 

To fill the time spent waiting I practice casting silent spells on the robes with my knees trapped against my chest. A few times I manage to change the robes to display the Slytherin colors. My list seems never ending. Another thing for me to have _feelings_ about…

 

Draco Malfoy represents everything that looms over me, threatening to ensure my failure and death. His family has raised him to hate people like me. He ruthlessly picked on me in the first two years. During third year his efforts to attack me shifted towards Harry more specifically. Most days he was obsessed with making fun of how weak Harry had become (or always was, as far as he was concerned). The only times he mentioned me was when he mocked me for standing up to him for Harry.

 

As each week passed I became more vocal about his belittling. I also started running at school in the mornings that year, which is part of the reason that I grew confident enough to engage Draco Malfoy publically. We were comfortable in the strangest way from our time in the waning shadows of nightfall. If he’d been particularly cruel one day the next he would comment to me how brave I’ve become. _“A true Gryffindor, Granger,”_ he would taunt me playfully. He insisted it was a compliment, but that it would remain a secret no differently than our laps together around the grounds.

 

Despite the possibility that eventually someone might see it, we continued running at exactly the same time every day. We actually made informal plans to continue this routine through our fifth year. It is uncanny to consider that before these secret rendezvouses we were usually just sitting on opposite sides of a bookshelf studying. He is my only real academic competition in our year, and the only one as dedicated to knowing everything about magic as me.

 

Unfortunately, he comes from a family that qualifies as “bad wizards.” He is the kind of person that the Doctor was inquiring directly about earlier today. Stupid me, I’ve left him with one: _a bad wizard_. If The Doctor asks any questions, Draco could speak terribly about me. He might be painting me in a negative light right now and turning this alien man against me. Still, I _trust_ Draco Malfoy with him.

 

I mean ‘trust’ in the present tense. I’m not even actually worried that he’s doing anything like that because he’ll want answers, the same as I would in his position. He’ll behave himself because he’ll harass me for more information later.

 

I don’t think that I believe Draco Malfoy is a _bad_ wizard, honestly. I actually think he puts on this façade of cruelty because this is what he is expected to be as a Malfoy. He is probably just trying to fill a role assigned to him. For that reason I pity the life he lives. Now I wonder how he’s spending his summer and if he’s doing anything that makes him truly happy during his time off.

 

I _feel_ as if this may be my motivation – to keep running with him, of course. Maybe if I make him see that we are the same, that we are very similar, that he’ll question the validity of his upbringing. Maybe, if I just prove myself to him, which will show him that Voldemort is a monster and the he’s wrong.

 

I hate all of these _feelings_ but it’s what brought me here and I can’t ignore them now. I’ll ignore them later once I have more information. Information and feelings now – cold analysis later; _that_ is how this is going to work!

 

* * *

 

 

“What’s your name?” the Malfoy boy asks while whipping his hair back from his eyes. His hand lingers and it reminds me of Amy. When she would fluff her hair a little bit more when Rory was in a room. They would disappear after that; as if I couldn’t comprehend the message she sent him. This was her signal to Rory that she wanted to engage in a very specific recreational activity. I never once told her I understood. Sometimes it was fun to see how she would get out of a trip or a conversation just to run off with Mr. Pond.

 

I don’t figure this young man is intending the same when he does it. I believe he’s thinking. I wonder if he’s thinking about Hermione Granger. His face is a bit contorted with what I know to be mixed emotion. Rory often wore this expression when Amy would beg him to come on another adventure, in the earlier days of course, and join us in our travels.

 

Amy had that look in her eyes when…

…When she was saying good-bye…

 

I feel my chest hitch and I whirl around this part of the library that Hermione called the ‘Restricted Section.’ Malfoy says something about nobody being in this part of the library without permission. I just barely hear him say Hermione has unlimited access, much like himself, because of her frequent visits.

 

“Doctor John Smith.” I reply plainly, as though he hasn’t said a number of things since asking. I don’t use my human name very often, not anymore at least. My last regeneration used the pseudonym often, especially for his prolonged stays with humans. Hermione had not mentioned Malfoy before we ran into him, so I conclude he’s not important enough to know my proper name.

 

Then again, I should give her as much trust as she’s giving me. She _has_ allowed me to give her a taste of the time travelling experience, so I have to give her a taste of what my companionship is worth. He gives me a bit of a look so I poke my hand at him pleasantly, “Call me Doctor for short. All of my friends do.”

 

He reaches out hesitantly, “Draco Malfoy. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Doctor.” I can’t believe how cold his skin, or how soft it is. It reminds me of Amy Pond’s delicate hands. They share a similar skin tone. It makes my heart ache.

 

“How do you know Miss Granger?” I ask as I start to pull books off of shelves and examine the covers. Dust flies off of most of them, which leads me to believe that nobody at this school is particularly interested in the finer details of how the Ministry of Magic was formed. I wonder for a second if I can nick it for my own library to read later. It would be valuable information, I think. And nobody would really miss it, right?

 

Draco Malfoy laughs, it’s a bit sarcastic it seems. For a second I analyze what it could signify. Part of me thinks he has always known her. However, if I reflect on their exchange in the hallway I know their relationship isn’t exactly friendly. Perhaps they are enemies? Or they might be rivals! I find rivalry particularly intriguing. I really do hope this might be the case, which I know would seem strange if I shared it out loud with any human.

 

“I’m not sure I do know her,” he begins, “and she doesn’t really know me either.”

 

Intelligent life forms get so complicated. I forget occasionally that they are not machines, and that they need more than an adventure and a new part. Amy made me hyperaware of this fact. All the time she was wanting to do domestic things – _normal_ things. Once she had a tantrum because we ended up on a planet made up entirely of water on our way to the beach. She didn’t speak to me for days and it took Rory telling me that not everyone wants to save the world everyday to see why it upset her.

 

She was right to marry Rory.

 

Amy and Rory both worked and had human lives outside of the TARDIS. I think this made them special and different from my companions before them. Having them on my spaceship was important and for this reason I am following Hermione on her domestic adventure. If she is to be as valuable to me as I am hoping, I must let her remain in touch with her humanity.

 

I want Hermione Granger to a Pond-shaming impact on me as I travel through time and space running away from my past. I think she could have a special type of healing buried inside of her that I selfishly want to be mine. I suppose that’s why I always grab a companion along the way, because I’m too selfish to travel on my own.

 

Amy always rattled on about how it was I simply couldn’t do it alone. I was never sure if she meant travelling or living. Maybe she meant both. I will not say that she was wrong to say these things.

 

“How do you mean, Mr. Malfoy?” I ask, flipping open the book to a page discussing the need for a balanced system to keep magic in check. My eyes scan each page with frightening speed. The seconds that fill the silent space until the boy replies is nothing in the mind of a Time Lord, but it must feel nearly akin to hours for him. There’s grogginess in his tone, which affirms my thoughts.

 

“I don’t get to talk to her very much. What we do know sort of pits us against each other.” Aha! They are rivals, after all. All good heroes need a rival, I joke to myself. This rivalry cannot be too serious, though, because reluctance leaks from behind his teeth. His face wrinkles all together for a second, almost as if he’s in pain. Something about this truth makes him uneasy. I think he may be holding information back because he is unsure how to share it.

 

I jump up, remembering very suddenly that Hermione didn’t tell me much about those bad wizards. I mean, she did tell me that they didn’t like her because she isn’t from magical parents. A frown settles over my lips. So far she seems very capable, why wouldn’t that make her merit at this school valid? I suppose she didn’t say it was the school that harbored these ideals, but only these bad wizards. So happily smash my hands together and grin at Draco Malfoy.

 

“Are you a bad wizard? Is that why you think she is your rival?” Demand would be a strong word for what I’ve done here. I think I more or less excitedly shouted at him. His hand flies up to remind me to remember my library etiquette. His eyes do betray him, though, and they read with perfect horror. Simultaneously we lean towards one another to speak in hushed tones.

 

“What do you mean by that?” Draco does actually demand; “Why do you ask if I’m a bad wizard?” He is offended.

 

I recall for him what I have heard throughout the country. I go as far as saying that it seems silly to me, but that I’ve no place in the war personally. He corrects me without a moment passing; “There is no war.” His tone may have been better fit for a funeral than a casual conversation but I won’t be telling him as much.

 

“It seems to me that there will be soon.” I don’t tell him there’s almost always war wherever I show up. I think this is my eternal punishment. I cannot escape that which births my inner demons. War is everywhere I go, because I am the embodiment of War. Fury tears at the insides of each of my hearts.

 

“If you define a bad wizard by which side he stands, then I born a bad wizard, Doctor.” Draco concludes for me. His arms are now crossed and he’s refusing eye contact. After this he proceeds to tell me that Hermione Granger is exactly the kind of witch that pureblood families despises. The fact that she is so strong coming from a Muggle’s bloodline is frightening to them.

 

Never once does he imply that he personally aligns with these values. I don’t ask him if he’s shared this with Hermione Granger. That’s not my business. Besides, I know this is not the boy she’s come back to speak to and so it is not my place to meddle. I do know where to draw the line occasionally. So I leave this one be.

 

“I define a bad wizard as any person which would discriminate against a person based on the blood that flows in their veins. Magic chooses its vessel.” I believe what I am saying though I’ve no connection to the topic personally. I stand adamantly against discrimination of any sort. I’ve always been extremely against the Daleks and Cybermen. They want to conform everyone to this single image that is supposedly superior. Nothing angers me more than prideful prejudice. Well, little angers me more than that at least.

 

Draco lets a smirk sneak onto his lips but it is gone in an instant; “Not everyone sees it that way, unfortunately.” For a moment this boy looks so old in his eyes that he could compete with me in years. A dark wisdom flashes up and down his pupils with each agonizing blink. I had thought I was seeing much of myself in Hermione Granger, but now I know I am wrong. Draco Malfoy, her enemy-friend, is the one that shares my traits more specifically.

 

Draco Malfoy is properly running from a demon of his own.

 

“Hermione told me she is going to talk to someone about a dance.” Draco is nodding before I’ve finished my sentence. He knows exactly what she’s come back for, apparently, though he’s not aware that she’s “come back” exactly. He says he overheard a bit of talk that Hermione has a date for the Yule Ball – and that her Weasley friend (I don’t know what these titles and names mean, but I’ll learn) is still looking for a one.

 

He ends by saying, “Weasley and Granger have a weird thing happening. They sort of like each other.”

 

“But?” I ask.

 

“But,” He starts with indecisive gurgling, “I don’t think that it means anything.”

 

“How do you figure?” Maybe if I keep asking plain questions he’ll answer me. I like having the answers, too, even for menial things such as this – which _could_ become useful later.

 

“They haven’t evened out yet.” Draco makes it clear at that point he’s not particularly inclined to speak any further. He has work he needs to get done, though I distinctly remember him leaving the library on our way. Once he’s sat down and working I shut my mouth and watch on with false interest. I want to ask more questions about Hermione Granger, and I suspect he would answer sincerely, but he’s shut himself off. I get the feeling he wouldn’t budge on the matter. Since I don’t want to push those boundaries at this time I just inquire about his work. Draco proceeds to explain all that he’s doing for his assignments. I’m supposedly a wizard, far as he knows, so I _should_ know this information already. He does cock a brow at me, wondering why I would be curious, but I told him I like hearing how people explain and reason. It is an extremely weird personality trait but he doesn’t appear to mind.

 

* * *

 

 

 

The second the boys return to the common room, I’m not exactly awake. Dry throat and droopy eyes make it nearly impossible to see them through the crack of the wardrobe. Only just barely am I able to identify them sitting at the fireplace. A few other people are in the common room, but I try my hand at silently influencing them to get on with their nightly routine.

 

Once I confirm it is safe I sneak out of the wardrobe. With the grace I lacked in the TARDIS, I sneak up to the couch; “You’re boys, right?” I hiss at them.

 

“Hermione, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.” Ron grumbles, rolling his eyes right along with his words. How can I have a crush on such a sod? He lacks the manners that girls swoon over in Viktor Krum! Why would I travel back when I’ve got a famous Quidditch player after my heart?

 

Because feelings are weird and I have them, apparently; “Then what _did_ you mean, Ronald?”

 

Harry stands up and whispers something about going to bed for the night. I swing my finger at him and shake my head. I’m not going to let him slip off of the hook that easily; “Do either of you realize that I am a girl and that people actually like me?”

 

“Well, I mean I’ve had my suspicions.” Harry sasses me, looking a bit inconvenienced by my petty complains. I don’t blame him for it. I would be pretty upset too since his life is at risk every day being in this tournament.

 

“Off to bed with you, Harry!” I shout, but I pivot to Ron and put each hand on my hips; “But you need to tell me what possessed you to be so rude to me today.”

 

Ron shakes his head; “What about you? Aren’t you being a bit rude right now? You’re not the boss, Hermione.”

 

“Ron, just shut up and apologize.” Harry groans as he begins walking away. Tears are welling up in my eyes and I hope that stupid Ronald Weasley follows in his footsteps. I clearly was not emotionally ready for this trip back in time. I have no idea how this is going to change the timeline, but I just feel even more confused than before I came back.

 

The damage is likely already done, though.

 

So I may as well see this confrontation to the end; “I forget that I’m actually your friend sometimes. You apparently don’t even recognize that I’m a _girl_. You don’t acknowledge that I could actually be attractive to someone else. And you don’t bother to ask me what I’m doing in my personal life!”

 

How would I know that I’m their friend when I get more daily personal interaction from a boy that is supposed to want to see me expelled (or worse)? I don’t. I _don’t_ know.

 

And that’s the reason I had to come back to find out the truth.

 

I think I know it, though. I think always knew it. I just wanted it to be different. It angers me too much. So I pull my wand out.

 

* * *

 

 

 

I don’t consider myself much of a sleeper, though I must sleep eventually. I guess at one point I knew it was going to happen but I made no effort to stop it. Draco doesn’t seem to care either. My eyes are cracked and I nearly snap up at the sound of Hermione’s questioning, I catch Draco smiling just a smidge so I do not move; “Your Doctor nodded off somewhere in the middle of my divinations homework.”

 

“Useless subject so I’m not even a little surprised.” A nick her tone suggests that she’s not impressed with divinations as a class. I’m not bothered by it, honestly, and wasn’t nodding because I was bored (though I was a bit disinterested – seeing the future is something I don’t need to learn how to do when I can simply travel there). I think I fell asleep because I’ve just been running for too long.

 

Hermione is giving me this comfort that I can maybe (finally) relax just a little. Having her as a companion means slowing down, I think, and that might be good for me to do for once. I know that my TARDIS wants me to be less risky, and I know I am running dangerously low on regenerations. I’ve got to be more careful and think about a few decades or so of relaxing – with _safe_ hobbies.

 

Magic doesn’t seem very safe.

 

So naturally I like the idea of getting tangled up in it.

 

“I heard you hated it, but never thought you’d admit it, Granger.” Draco practically sings at her. I don’t think it would be far-fetched of me to suggest he might like her a bit too. I am not sure even he realizes it yet. Most likely he sees her as an intellectual equal and merely aims to be on level playing grounds with her, socially and academically.

 

Hermione grunts in a laughing sort of way. I nearly crack a smile myself at the sound; “I hear you aren’t anymore fond of it. Not all classes are worth our time.”

 

“No, I suppose not.” Haughty would be the word I use to describe his tone, I think. I keep my eyes closed and keep listening. Listening can do so much.

 

“Did he wander?” Hermione steps closer and it displaces the world that existed in that spot previous to her. The air moves ever so slightly and I tense. I doubt she’s seen it beneath these thick cotton robes, but I’ll end up moving soon and revealing that I’m awake. Sitting still is not my favorite activity. Sitting still _on purpose_ is only that much worse.

 

“Not at all,” Draco begins, “But he asked if I was a bad wizard or if I knew about them. I don’t suppose you’ve anything to do with it.”

 

“I didn’t set him on the topic, if that’s what you mean, Malfoy.” That’s definitely a tone of malice. I think River would have been impressed by Hermione’s attitude. She isn’t the least bit intimidated by a boy that would coolly state he does affiliate with what is defined as the enemy. River would look her in the eye and tell her what a magnificent young woman she is, and then she’d tell me to make her my companion.

 

Or maybe I just think that because that’s what I want.

 

“I was honest with him.” Draco declares. I think he was probably as honest as he could be in the exact context.

 

Hermione turns away, the air being shifted again. I can’t say for sure if looks up, down, or away, but her head does change positions. I can practically hear the new angle ringing around in my ears; “I told him that by default I must be.”

 

“You can choose not to be.” Hermione sighs. It isn’t an angry noise and I open my eyes wide. I am about to question her, or at least join the conversation. But…

 

Everything moves almost too quickly. I don’t hear anything after that because Draco mutters inaudibly before slamming into a chair. I suspect that she’s pushed him Hermione then grabs my arm and forces me upright. I catch only a glimpse of bright light as she speaks clearly the word: “Obliviate.”

 

After that she reaches out again and pinches Draco on the shoulder. He doesn’t have the opportunity to ask questions before his body slumps over and we’re sneaking from the library quickly. It isn’t until we’ve made it outside that I realize that Hermione Granger has knocked out the boy. I cannot imagine Draco Malfoy will take kindly to that at all.

 

Once inside the TARDIS she commands me to take her back. It isn’t an emotional plight. When she repeats herself, “Take me home,” it has an air of reminding. As if maybe I’d forgotten that’s where we were destined to go from here and I just needed a push notification to get back on track. I smile lazily at her before whizzing around the console and pressing my standard buttons.

 

This time she is latched onto a handle along the console, feet firmly pressing into the ground. Running all the time is paying off. As for me, falling is just a part of my Time Lord culture, I suppose. The crashing against the railing doesn’t even hurt anymore. I even make a show out of it sometimes, singing tunes to songs I don’t actually know.

 

Once we make it back to her house, Hermione gets out of the TARDIS without saying a word to me. I don’t know certainly whether to follow or to give her space. Teenagers are a twinge unpredictable on a good day! Still, this doesn’t deter me and I follow my companion-to-be into her house once more.

 

Mr. and Mrs. Granger are nowhere in sight so we end up back in her bedroom no differently than before, even changing back into our proper clothes (though she did some magic on my trousers). Hermione opts for something that I assume is more fitting of her personal style. A pair of tan shorts paired with a simple red shirt bearing a family crest of some sort.

 

“Gryffindor crest.” She offers; “There are four houses at Hogwarts. They are sort of like classes or teams of people the represent the values of our founders. I belong to the Gryffindor house.”

 

Then her gaze lingers on me for a moment. A smile flickers across her face but the joy is gone in a moment. Too much seems to be fleeting for this young woman. It makes her perfect for travelling through time and space. It’s like I don’t even have to try justifying it at this point. All the while I am thinking and she’s continuing on; “I think you’d be a Hufflepuff, but Ravenclaw wouldn’t be a far stretch.”

 

“You’ll have to teach me about these Hogwarts houses.” I declare. She nods a bit. I wonder whether or not it would be my place to say anything about her trip. Did she get the information she wanted? Will we be making more trips back? Should I instead bring up the conversation I had with the Malfoy boy?

 

No, no. None of these topics are fitting.

 

So I try something else instead, “That magic that you did to Mr. Malfoy? What was it for?”

 

Hermione hunches before sitting herself on the bed; eyes glossing over as she detached herself from her actions. I know too well the expression she wears. Something must have gone terrible wrong. Maybe she found something that she didn’t truly want to have; or maybe, she just didn’t hear anything she was hoping to hear from the boy she went back to see. I know the oddest things would sometimes move Amy emotionally, especially where it pertained to Mr. Pond.

 

“It is a memory charm.”

 

“What’s a memory charm exactly?” I am toying with my sonic, scanning everything around her room. I don’t doubt anything. Magic is as real as my ability to travel through all of time and space. Whether or not she is actually a witch never crossed my mind; but I am curious how I’ve ended up crossing her timeline. The TARDIS sends me to specific people at specific places. Never have I ever believed that my companions are coincidence. Each serves a purpose so integral to my travels that victories are equally theirs as they are mine.

 

“It can alter or completely remove an individual’s memory.” Hermione keeps her definition short and sweet.

 

Even I don’t need more information than that to deduce what she’s chosen. Hermione went back in time to find answers. She didn’t get the answers she was hoping to get from the person she sought out. An outsider from the plan interrupted and became collateral damage. Now I know there’s no way to bring Draco Malfoy up in a conversation.

 

I find it to be a pity, since I believe he may be very interested in his developing relationship with her. He’ll never remember the conversation he had, though, and may forget entirely that he was actually in opposition of the beliefs he’s been raised to harbor.

 

“I never should have allowed you to go back. It goes against my rules. Each time I’ve made an exception has blown up in my face, almost literally.” There is nothing more out-of-character for me than allowing someone to travel to a past point in time within his or her own timeline. Hermione isn’t even someone close to me that I love, the way that Rose Tyler was at the time I made an exception for her. As a result she ended up in a different universe entirely.

 

Grieving and desperation has a profound effect, even on non-human life forms.

 

“That isn’t the first time I’ve manipulated time travel. Magical people have a device called a Time Turner that allows you to be in two places at once. I used it to juggle a busy class schedule in my third year. They took it away, of course, because of the fact that I abused my privileges.” She goes on to explain that she violated several school rules and magical laws, even, in an effort to set free a man who was guilty of no crime. I listened and admired with sincerity. Hermione was only thirteen years old when she did all of those heroic things. She’s been a heroine in the background since she was a child! It is no wonder to me that Draco Malfoy would find difficulty opposing her.

 

I see now that Hermione isn’t just a bookworm; a logic addict. She craves something more fulfilling and demanding. Feelings will confuse her but never rule her. Since she’s just now beginning to develop a romantic interest in others, it is only natural that she utilizes something more scientific and reliable in an attempt to define what she’s experiencing in her heart.

 

I must have Hermione Granger as my next companion.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor shows up while Hermione is enjoying an afternoon meeting with her parents and her boyfriend, Viktor Krum. As everything unfolds, Hermione must choose whether or not to join the Doctor on a trip in the TARDIS.

I peer around the corner, curious whether or not I should accept the Doctor’s invitation to visit another planet. Things had returned to normal after he left my house that day. He had stayed over for a cuppa, of course, but was soon running away to someplace in need of saving. I found peace when he left, once or twice convincing myself that I was crazy and had imagined the entire venture.

 

Well, except for the fact that the _pain_ of the travels were _very_ real.

 

Now he’s sitting on the other end of the phone line pleading for me to join him on another trip. In a way, I do feel as though I owe him this luxury. Did he not humor me when I wanted to figure out my own tangled feelings? The Doctor is promising me that the planet is one hundred percent safe, zero danger present. He thinks we’ll just do picnic and a tour, nothing too time consuming. I have to tell him that that _under any other circumstance, yes I would,_ but today is not the best timing.

 

Viktor Krum is visiting. After travelling back to speak with Ron more about what happened, about the comments he made, I thought hard about my best options. I am young and I can’t get caught up in something that is going nowhere. My feelings are definitely one-sided, and I can’t let myself get lost in the “what-ifs” of a fantasy. I am just too comfortable with the boys I know best.

 

Viktor Krum cares about me. Viktor Krum chooses me. I should give him a chance. There’s more to it than what it seems, this choice of mine. Life is a one-time-only event, and I want to make sure I live it to the fullest. In a few years, I want to know that I didn’t leave Viktor in the dust because I _thought_ I liked Ron Weasley more.

 

Besides that, I _do_ really like Viktor. He is smarter than people give him credit for with his brutish appearance and athletic nature. He makes kind gestures, not just to me but also to the people around him. When girls fawn over him in public he reminds them that there’s nothing special about him but that he appreciates their support. When boys ask how many ladies he gets, or what he does to be so great – he is careful to choose encouraging words. Humility and kindness define him at his core, and I admire that very much. He’s going to be a great man and it will be an honor to be apart of his story in any way at all.

 

I pull my mind back and take in a careful breath. My parents are cooing their joy over Viktor’s various accomplishments. Nearly I consider it a detriment to have someone so decorated and accomplished – and only seventeen! – but is it _really_ that terrible to date a proper celebrity? I gather myself and clear my throat; “I have obligations are the present, sir. I must respectfully decline.”

 

For a moment I ponder lying, but I know it will do nothing for my cause. He seems adamant so all I can do is stand my ground. To build my case I continue before he can reply; “My boyfriend has come to meet my parents.”

 

The Doctor remarks boldly, “You moved on quick! To be young and falsely in love…” He trails off but I don’t hear the nervous breathing over my angry laughter. I cannot believe the insult he’s conjured. The bubble of irritation leads me back into the sitting room to rejoin Viktor and my parents. They are all carrying on as usual. The world carried on without me, almost as if they had not noticed my prolonged absence.

 

“Who was on the phone?” My father asks, and I mumble that a friend was calling about hanging out. This is not unusual, generally, though not so early into the summer break from school. Many of my friends are still in school or are on vacation out of the country.

 

Thankfully they don’t question anything, but Viktor sports an arched brow. Perhaps he did not realize I would still have muggle friends. I really don’t have _many_ and the Doctor certainly is _not_ a muggle. He’s not even human. My first response is to explain that I must have forgotten about my plans. Viktor’s eyes widen marginally but he quickly recovers, “All is vell! It would be more surprising is nobody vanted to spent time vith her. She makes great company.” His smile is welcoming and his accent is alluring in a sweet way. I am happy to be here with him.

 

Viktor continues to pass the Granger Parent Approval test. I am not surprised when they coo over each story he tells, though he is testing those limits. Presently he shares with them the story of our first date, and I cringe at the recollection of it. Everything was so awkward and I fumbled over my words whenever he leaned close in the carriage or stepped nearer to me while we walked. I am stuffing biscuits into my mouth at a pace that would shame even Ron’s appetite.

 

Thinking his name brings me insatiable rage. To think that I thought there was romantic tension with him at any point now seems ridiculous. I cannot believe I thought I really was attracted to him at all.

 

I mean, during our first year he constantly regarded me as prioritizing school over my life, being a bossy know-it-all, and not even befitting of the Gryffindor title (he thought I belonged in Ravenclaw with other ‘book sniffing brainiacs’). Maybe he didn’t utter those _exact_ words to me directly, but I heard him constantly telling people they should make a transfer form specifically to move me into the Ravenclaw house where I belonged – on more than one occasion, too. During our second year he began questioning how much I really knew and would constantly ask me to just _do_ his homework instead of _help_ him with it. The whole business with the Polyjuice potion had me on edge, though not openly, and most of the stress came from his impatience over how long it would take to brew the potion.

 

And third year? The number of insults I’d gathered that year from my cat alone were enough to drive anyone mad. Of course, it was more than that. He picked on me for the level of frustration I had towards Divinations. It wasn’t even a class he liked that I didn’t – we both absolutely hated it! Just as I realize I must be showing my emotions two surprising things seem to be happening simultaneously.

 

Firstly, Viktor has somehow turned the conversation to his home in Belgium. He is telling them that he hopes they’ll allow me to come stay with him: _his standing request for her to meet his family_. I have not uttered anything of this to my parents and I try to avoid their gazes as they shift unexpectedly towards me. How would they feel about me spending several weeks without them in a foreign country with my **older, famous boyfriend?** That has to be every parent’s nightmare, I imagine.

 

Just as this is happening the phone is ringing again. I jump up after the fourth ring and race to nearest phone. As soon as I pick it up I leave the reality of my situation behind; “Granger Residence.”

 

“When should I pick you up? Is now a good time?” The Doctor’s voice calms me, and also sets fire to my tongue. Where I would have remained silent minutes ago I am eager to get out the burning in my throat. I lash at him to find something else to do, to go find a damsel in stress; “Or even a prince!”

 

When he doesn’t reply I go further, reminding him of my position; “Delightful as it would be, I have obligations which I care about at this moment.”

 

“From here it looks as if you could use a police box.” I am unsure what my first reaction actually is because I speed through a variety of emotions. Firstly, I’m stunned that he feels so comfortable violating my privacy. Secondly, I’m furious that he feels so comfortable violating my privacy. Yes, I know that is the same reasoning but it stands just the same. Thirdly, the fact that he is that dedicated to his cause is impressive. Lastly, I am happy that he feels that bringing me along on his trip is so worth his time that he would violate all other social norms to recruit me for these travels. Of course my face reflects none of this because it is slack with slow processing.

 

When my body catches up with my mind my mouth forms words with delicacy, “Your actions are unacceptable in so many ways. It is absolutely absurd.”

 

The line is cut abruptly, and the last thing I hear is his distant laughter. The air is loud in its silence, but it is only so for a moment before knocking rips through my conscience. I think that I react quickly enough but when I reach the front door my father is already reaching his hand out; “I’ll get it,” I shout to him repeatedly. It is to no avail, naturally, because he flings the door back to meet the glossy gaze of the Doctor, hands stuffed in pockets and grinning.

 

“I’ve come for her. We’ve got plans across town in about an hour.” He says plainly, as if his presence should be absolutely no surprise whatsoever.

 

My father insists this man has the wrong address, explaining that it happens often. So many of our neighbors run businesses out of their homes that if customers or clients misinterpret their directions in any way they’ll end up at our door. I’ve never minded and neither have my parents, so my father’s tone is flat and polite as it would be in any other situation.

 

“No. I am here for Hermione Granger,” at this point my father is visibly irritated. The Doctor apparently is blind because he reaches his arm past my father’s shoulder and points to me; “That’s her.”

 

Though I am hesitant I have to say something; “He does mean me, actually.”

 

My father asks if I can step aside with him and explain, but I remain in place. The Doctor, who introduces himself as John Smith – “actually” – asks again when I’ll be going along with him. At that point I inform my father that we have been collecting books on his wish list, but we’ve been looking for first print editions _only_ – making it sound noble in any way I can manage. Our full story is that he found a book on his list and wanted me to accompany him to pick it up. My father stares until my mother finally joins us with crossed arms.

 

When re-explaining the entire charade, a total lie, the Doctor pulls out a notebook of sorts, which apparently houses a fair bit of scribbled nonsense. It seems to bring ease to my parents’ expression. They decide to give me a few minutes – five exactly – to resolve the matter; “In the mean time, we’re going to go back and learn more about _Bulgaria_.”

 

I am confident that the _sans_ parent vacation offer is not currently swaying in my favor.

 

To be fair, nothing seems to be swaying in my favor. Breaking the rules, being selfish, and acting on whims is the worst feeling in the world and I can’t see the point in it. Yet I still find myself stepping outside with the Doctor anyway.

 

“You’re a bloody stalker!” I growl. It is the first thing that comes to my mind. It is a bit empty in emotion but I smile moments later because – well, I don’t know. Maybe I should take the summer off from being logical? I’m off to a great start as it is!

 

“And you’re a bad actress,” he coughs softly, “But I don’t need an actress, do I?”

 

I am not keen on letting him off the hook so easily.

 

So I spit harsh words at him; “You have no place interrupting my life because you’ve decided that it’s time for lunch. I told you twice that I was already occupied.” I pause and look him over. When he opens his mouth to sass me I raise my hand and point my finger directly into his face. In fact, I’m barely even an inch away from touching him; “What you _need_ is a companion, but you won’t find one in me if I am denied equal respect.”

 

Haughtiness is involuntary for him, I think, but it is charming in a childish way. Though I don’t think of it intentionally, it is endearing the way Ron is undeniably adorable when he’s confident after passing a test. He thinks he knows everything but really just barely averted total disaster. I wait for him to apologize and he considers it, genuinely, but he must think best against it; “If you’d stop blabbering you’d know that I could take you right now and they’d never know any different. We’d come right back to this moment so you wouldn’t miss anymore biscuits and wedding plans.” The smirk that dances over his lips is devilish for the shortest, flickering moment before joy fills his expression promptly.

 

I want to be angry. I mean, I’ve been angry for the greater part of the last half hour. Instead my mind sticks to that scary word: _marriage._ I am only fifteen. He can’t be serious that this conversation would come up, right? He travels through space and time so what if he _is_ serious? The idea of getting married is not something to let pass by in the wind. Marrying Viktor Krum – is a possibility?

 

Suddenly accepting Viktor’s invitation to Belgium doesn’t seem so easy.

 

Honestly, it never seemed easy.

 

“So are you ready for departure, Miss Granger?” The Doctor inquires pleasantly, already walking away.

 

I turn half way, the wind rustling my hair into my face, and I watch him go. Should I even follow? Should I show him that he’s not my boss? Defiance rustles in my heart. It doesn’t make my decision easier, though. Do I defy my parents and go with the Doctor even though I have obligations here? Do I defy the Doctor and remain exactly where he found me, tending to ordinary business? Or do I defy the expectations that I have for myself and follow my heart instead of my mind?

 

I stomp my foot in place several times before I spit out; “FINE!” The Doctor wastes no time waving his space wand about to create a distraction within the house and race me around back to his TARDIS. While we are running, he quells my fears…

 

“No,” he sings at me after slamming the door behind him, “Viktor isn’t going to propose to you.” Of course, he reminds me, he’s not looked into it. All he can say for sure is that Viktor is interested in taking our relationship in a more ‘permanent’ direction. Quickly he throws a thumb down at me, indicating his disapproval I think.

 

I watch helplessly as he whirls around his machinery, hitting buttons and pulling levers. He pauses to type in the coordinates and name of the location he wishes to travel to and I gawk. I did not intend to retain the information he relays the screen but I read it quickly: Globus Ignis at Caelum. Feeling comfortable analyzing something familiar I start grinning and pointing.

 

“Ball of Fire? At Skies?” I laugh, sure that there’s nothing to worry about mostly, “Are we going somewhere safe for this picnic, Doctor?”

 

He laughs, “The native peoples of Caelum named their central star because they used to believe it was a planet made of fire. I assure you that this planet’s only curse is perfect spring weather every day of their year.” I love the sound of it and start walking to a nearby railing to lock myself in place. Within seconds I feel the lurch of the TARDIS taking off to zoom into time… or space… or whatever? I don’t fully understand how it works yet.

 

Maybe anyone else might have been thrown for a loop, as the saying goes, but not me. My world was flipped upside down when I was eleven years old when I found out that I was a witch, meaning that magic _was_ real. I was never going to be surprised to discover that aliens are also real. This is all new but in a fascinating sort of way, like if I found a brand new library with works I’ve never even heard of before.

 

“Fun fact, Miss Granger,” The doctor grins, taking his place next to me; “Aliens actually created the Latin tongue. I don’t expect humans to teach that in their silly schools, though.” I make sure to share with him that school isn’t actually ‘silly’ and that we learn a ton of information but I catch him grinning. He tells me that his conversation with Draco Malfoy is a memorable one simply because of the exposure he got to new information. He loves learning and I think this is why I trust him so much.

 

Suddenly my mind wanders back to the Doctor’s comments about Viktor Krum. She asserts aloud, for him and for herself; “I’m not going to marry him, you know.”

 

I am Miss Hermione Granger, with no plans to become Mrs. Viktor Krum anytime soon.

 

Once the TARDIS lands air feels odd in my lungs. It isn’t odd in a bad way, but it is lighter somehow. I feel as if I am barely staying grounded as I follow The Doctor through the doors he smiles as me, “I know.”

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I wrote this on the fly at two in the morning on Tumblr. Feel free to follow me there, if you use Tumblr (ficsforfangirls). I'm thinking about making this a multi-chapter piece - as I do have more time on my hands starting in a couple of weeks. I want the Doctor to take her on some silly teenage girl adventures - and I want her to involve the Doctor in the affairs of witches and wizards.  
> Drop a comment/review if you'd like! I appreciate the reads in advance my beautiful people.


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